Falling at First Sight

6. Autumn

"You're the one who said let's take it slow." Trent makes the comment as I catch my breath and lay my head back on the driver's side seat.

Dinner and another drink at the bar after, and then some more flirting and small touches, took most of the night. It's dark outside of the car. The moon is almost full, the stars on full display in the midnight blue sky.

Trent can't get the grin off his smug, handsome face.

"And yet ..." He lets the words hang in the air as he gestures to my house. I drove to my house after dinner. Not to his where his mother and both of our boys are.

Freudian slip is all I can say in defense.

"You just wanted to take me home. Admit it," he teases and with his rough chuckle I can't help but laugh.

He's not wrong, though. Not in the least.

Something changed at dinner. My heart won't stop thumping for this man.

I just hope it's as real for him as it feels for me. Every time he breaks our kiss, I remember something Renee likes to say that serves to answer that nagging little question: You'll find out by morning.

With a grin pulling at my mouth, I lean over the console and lay another kiss on his lips. Our hands don't stop roaming. Both of us feeling up the other and enjoying the kind of making out I thought was only for high school and puppy dog love.

I suppose romance has layers. And I happen to really enjoy all of Trent's layers. Every last little bit of every single one.

Very few cars have driven by but when they do, we've paused, caught our breath and teased the other for starting up the kiss again. It starts with a little touch, then inching closer ... I just can't get enough of him.

Ping. His phone goes off and this time I groan in protest, until I realize it's his mother.

He reads the text out loud. They're both fast asleep so stay out however long you want. Go to a movie or something.

"Are movies even playing this late?" I ask.

"She doesn't have to know all the details."

His words hang in the air. The pull between us only gets stronger as the seconds pass.

It's his turn to lean in and kiss me, which he does. His right hand on my thigh, his fingertips grazing against my bare skin and then higher, pushing up the hem of my dress.

I moan into his mouth as my left hand does the same to him, slipping up his collared shirt and finding his taut muscles beneath the fabric as our kiss deepens. He's got me every kind of hot and bothered.

It's only when a pair of headlights flashes and drifts by that the kiss is broken, leaving me breathless and more than that, wanting.

A million questions about how we're going to make this work and if it's going to last bombard my mind, but the only one I ask is, "You want to come in?"